


Destination Paris

by Isailaway



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-11 12:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3327149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isailaway/pseuds/Isailaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camille is leaving the island to begin a new chapter in her life... </p><p>AU - Some aspects of previous seasons may have been altered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Somewhere beyond the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born from both a conversation with Willowsticks, (thank you to her) and then reading the Wiki page that someone appeared to be playing with a few weeks ago. They might have been messing about – but it gave me inspiration so thanks!
> 
> I bought series 1 and 2 of DIP a long time ago on Apple TV. Thanks to my amazing broadband speed (not!) I am unable to watch them as the download speed is too slow. Frustrating. Apologies if therefore, my memories of specific events is a little off. Feel free to critique and point me in the right direction!

Camille sighed deeply, brushing a weary hand across her face.

She ought to feel relief.

She'd imagined that when this moment came, if it ever came, that mixed together with the sadness of leaving family and friends, there would be a huge weight lifted from her shoulders. Instead there was a jumble of apprehension and sheer exhaustion.

A tap on her shoulder refocused her mind. She nodded, smiling at the young flight attendant making her way down the aisle, and buckled the belt around her hips, leaning back in her seat as the plane began to taxi down the runway.

************************************

As the huge airbus slowed its rate of ascent above the Atlantic Ocean, she pinched her nose firmly to forcibly pop her ears, the familiar action casting her mind back in time, back beyond the last two years and the front she had been putting on; living with the knowledge that she alone possessed. Back past the emotional turmoil of the two years prior to that and all the way back to the first few times she had met him.

They had not had the best of beginnings.

Much like now, then had been the end of a chapter of her life. Her life undercover on the Islands had effectively come to an abrupt halt the second she had climbed into the boat. She allowed herself a silent chuckle. If she had known at the time how frightened of being on the water he was then she might have carried on swimming and extended the chase a little. Even with the motor as an advantage she had had more of a chance than she realised. But he had appeared so decisive and calculating after she had surprised them by diving into the sea that she had given in quite quickly and clambered into the boat; popping her ears to clear them as water cascaded from her shoulders to puddle on the wooden boards.

After her arrest, after being removed from undercover work, she had been so angry with him. Not only had he ruined her career, but the new chapter the Commissioner was offering her looked to have no redeeming features. Her new DI had effectively shackled himself to her, forced them into a partnership, and without desire or intent on his part either it appeared, so lost had he been in solving the case.

_"Can't you go back to London?"_

_"I'm trying."_

_"Try harder!"_

******************************************

Far beneath her, the Islands of the Lesser Antilles stretched away to the north. Soon the plane would turn east and they would disappear into the haze. She wondered if Humphrey had waited until the aircraft had left the ground. She had been so lost in her own thoughts, she hadn't thought to check and the size of the airport meant that she would have been able to make out his gangly frame easily.

Poor sweet Humphrey. Struggling after the end of his marriage and so sure that he was in love with her. He had found out that she was saying her goodbyes to her mother in private. Somewhere they could say what they wanted to say, express their emotions and make their plans for visiting one another in future without fear of interruption. He had then insisted he accompany her to the airport. Camille half wondered if he still held out hope that she would change her mind, dramatically fall into his arms and decide to stay. It would never have worked. For so many reasons.

Firstly, and most importantly, even if she felt able to give her heart to someone, that somebody would never be Humphrey. He was kind and sweet and intelligent and had been a devoted friend when she had really really needed one but he was never going to steal her heart. He had never made her stomach flip or caused her words to stall in her mouth. She would have been living a lie in more ways than one.

Secondly, it was quite clear to her at least that she was a rebound crush. Hurting from the failure of his marriage he had leapt, had transferred his affections to new, exciting and different rather than face the pain of loneliness or grieving for the future he must have had mapped out.

Despite feeling confident that he would not pine for too long and would find someone who could truly make him happy, it had been painful hurting her friend.

Necessary but painful.

She sighed again, twisting her fingers together in her lap, and then tapping fingernails on the metal belt clip. The future was a pretty scary prospect for her right now too. Better not to contemplate it too deeply yet.

She had made her decision and there was no going back.


	2. Thinking about You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind reviews, I hope I can do them justice.
> 
> Here's chapter 2 for you. I rushed it a bit and am not sure I have got Camille's voice at all right but then IMO the BBC messed with her character so I guess I could always say I meant to do it!

She was dreaming; caught in a land between sleep and wake where she knew she ought to pull herself out of it. Blink and rub her eyes and stretch. It would do no good to start reliving the past four years when it was just that, past.

On St Marie she had become adept at pushing aside the memories, closing the lid of the box and dealing with living each day one at a time. Going through the motions of accepting the blind dates her mother set up for her in the evenings and working hard during each day. She wasn't totally blind to her behavior though. She knew that her work had suffered, had even noticed Dwayne's odd sideways glances at her when she was too silent during a case. It just didn't seem as important as it used to and if the team missed her intuitive leaps then Humphrey had made up for it with his clumsy genius, Dwayne with his laid back observations and knowledge of the island, and Fidel, and now Florence with their diligence and professionalism.

But here on the plane, the roar and chatter and chink of glasses providing a numbing background, she allowed herself to dream and remember.

_"You are a rude man."_ Finger jabbing at him, her anger barely held in check. She had been so close to physically assaulting him that day; had satisfied herself with merely threatening it instead. _"I could almost certainly beat you in a fist fight."_

She could see in her minds eye the look of complete shock and horror on his face. He had been so consumed with looking inwardly, so upset at being trapped far from home in the heat and sand, and foreign culture, and combined with his utter focus and determination to do a good job; to prevent another murderer walking free that she realised only later he genuinely hadn't comprehended how offensive he was being.

To his credit, he had taken the verbal battering and altered his behavior almost immediately. And when she had taken the risks she had to extract a confession from the waiter, he had, to her utter surprise been the man to save her. Her unlikely hero.

It was startlingly clear looking back now with the benefit of hindsight but she hadn't admitted it then. Although she was sure she had said Thank you. She hoped she had. Camille frowned, eyes remaining closed. Moments like that shouldn't be important so many years later, but with so few memories to hold onto they had more of a prominence.

Did she know she loved him the last time she saw him?

Did she know now?

Maybe one day the answers would become clearer. The only truth she did know was that she had missed him every day since; had longed for his company and his heartfelt "well done team" when they solved a case. His rare moments of sharing snippets of his early life with her…..or at least initially rare. Moments like those had been steadily increasing in regularity until….

She missed the shy half smile that gently crept across his face. The one he directed at her in particular. She missed him allowing her to clean his face of dust following some criminal investigation or other when he didn't ordinarily let people anywhere near his personal space. She missed his strange homespun science experiments, even stranger given the historical nature of his further education and the self-satisfied smirk that he gave when he got a good result. Hell, she even missed the deep frown that drew his brows together when she wound him up more than was strictly fair.

Would it be the same in another time? In another place? There were too many questions that she couldn't answer.

She was awake now, pupils contracting against the sun that streamed through the small window as she opened her eyes.

She supposed she ought to eat something. No doubt she would be tired when she landed and unlikely to spend time finding food when there were so many other details to sort out. Inflight menus had improved over the years she knew; had enough flight attendant friends who discussed and grumbled and moaned about meal trays that did work and those that were too disgusting to even contemplate. Camille glanced down at the options available to her, one of the choices on the Inbound Caribbean flight catching her eye. Classic English roast beef with potato and some sort of vegetable. It wasn't something she would usually consider eating; too bland for her palate but it certainly called to mind more memories.

The first time she had managed to persuade him to eat at her mothers. A celebration after they had solved the murder of Angelique and her daughter. He had been pleasantly surprised, she had seen it in the set of his shoulders and the smile that had graced his features. And his pleasure had made her happy. At a time when she wasn't sure she liked him at all, the invitation an altruistic one to help him feel less alone and foreign so far from his home. As if eating with the team was ever going to make him appear less foreign!

They had caught one another's eye, raised a glass, and for that tiny moment in time all had seemed right with the world; a moment when she felt that perhaps they could work together effectively and amicably after all.

A polite cough alerted her to the flight attendant stood by her elbow. She rapidly refocused, pointing out the sweet chilli chicken and rice option, dropping her tray to allow them to serve her a drink.

Half an hour later, trolleys still being loaded with detritus; half eaten trays of food, empty juice cartons and shredded bread rolls, the announcement came to refasten seatbelts. Camille clipped herself in. A trip to the bathroom to freshen up, and to stretch her legs would have to wait. She wondered how Richard had found flying back and forth to the Caribbean. She had never thought to ask. Or rather, he had been so wound up by the loss of his baggage, the heat, the flies, the sun, the fat bloke sat next to him on the flight that she had spent far more time either trying to shut him up, change the subject, ignore him or in the latter stages of his posting, simply be so grateful he had once more returned to the Island that she hadn't enquired after his general opinion of long haul flights.

Oh the feelings he had induced on that last trip back to the UK, the look on his face and the sudden tension in his shoulders the day the Commissioner had told him he was needed in London; required to escort Malcolm Powell's assistant back to London for questioning by the Serious Organised Crime Agency. He had looked across at her and she had felt a curious mix of nausea and trepidation swirl in her stomach and she'd known she wasn't going to like what he was about to tell her.

Even then and notwithstanding her own feelings, she'd also realised he was not wholly excited to be going. After all, she'd spent almost two years being bashed over the head with how wonderful London was, how difficult life was here, how much he wanted to go back to England given the chance. And he hadn't reacted like that at all. If anything his reactions had appeared a little forced. That ought to have bolstered her, and truly it had. But there was also an overpowering conviction that once he got back to his beloved home country, once the sand had been washed from his skin and his body had adjusted to the colder climate, that he would forget all about them – her - and never return. And so she had steeled herself; had kissed his unresisting cheek and hugged his motionless body and sent him off with a smile.

Camille shivered. That week of missing him and worrying about his return positively paled into insignificance with the years since then.

Like Pandora's box, now that she had allowed herself to peek inside, the lid was off and the memories were coming thick and fast.

She remembered the childlike joy rushing through her body as he walked back into her Mother's bar, ranting about the state of the airlines and their ability to look after his baggage. She had sworn to herself never again to roll her eyes at his grousing and to merely appreciate every tirade; to try to empathise with the difficult character that was her boss and friend.

Of course promises like those were never destined to last. By the end of that same evening, as delighted as she'd been to see him, she'd still cut him short quite abruptly when he'd started complaining about the lady in charge of lost or damaged luggage at the airport.

And she was sure she'd snapped her fingers at him the following week when he'd been overly brusque with an unusually ailing Dwayne. To give Richard credit, it had taken her a good few minutes herself to ascertain that it wasn't just a hangover and that clicking her fingers had probably been unnecessary. But increasingly she had been suspecting he was no longer offended by the gesture. That he even treasured it. All a part of the steady progression of their relationship or whatever their growing friendship was defined as.

Two months later and he was gone.

Camille bashed the armrest in frustration causing the elderly gentleman sat next to her to start in surprise and then attempt to shift away from her, towards the other side of his seat. She murmured an apology, smiling briefly at him and then placed her head in her hands.


	3. Looking for Someone

Oh God, what was she doing? This was madness. 

She needed space. She needed to get out. 

Ignoring the seatbelt warning light and the protests of the cabin crew, and claiming an emergency in such a direct way that the blushing male steward let her past without delay she made her way to the toilet, locking the door behind her and then bracing herself between the walls of the small compartment as the aeroplane juddered. 

The turbulence soon eased enough for her to run some cold water into the small sink, splashing it liberally over her face. She stared into the mirror; watched the droplets of water trace their way down her cheeks to drip slowly from her chin and took a few deep breaths. 

The paper towel was coarse so she dabbed gently at her face and hands, screwing it up and disposing of it before reaching into her pocket to pull out a crumpled piece of paper, smoothing it out as she sat down carefully on the toilet lid to read the familiar list. 

Reasons to Stay

Family  
Friends  
Lifestyle  
Sunshine  
Warmth  
Known contact address

She glanced at the last one again. Had she stayed for so long so that she could be contactable?

Reasons to Leave

Future career prospects

Although she had admitted it to nobody, the job offer in Paris was a sideways step at best. There were always more prospects in a big European City but that was not the primary reason for being on this plane despite it being at the top of her list. She remained ambitious but as she got older, had tempered it with the knowledge that a nice job with friends around her and a comfortable standard of living in a beautiful place was important. Which made the reasons for being on the plane appear even more ludicrous. 

Beneath her one reason for leaving was a great big question mark. 

?

It sat glaring at her, filling the rest of the page. 

Was this really the daftest idea she had ever had? This idea that had sat there in the back of her brain for so long that she could no longer tell whether she was functioning on gut instinct or a grand romantic ideal. 

She had no idea where he was, had never been given any promises of happy ever after and was basing all of this on one snatched conversation. A conversation he should never have had, but had felt……

What had he felt?

Well enough to prepare her for what came such a short time later. Not soon enough to change the course of events though most likely that would have been impossible no matter how much warning she’d been given. She knew how these things worked. 

She took another deep breath, flapping the paper around to stop her mind wandering to that awful day. 

It wasn’t strictly true to say that she was basing all of this, this total uprooting of her life on one snatched conversation. It was months - a year – two - of a slow building friendship, deep respect, mutual admiration, some fascination and a shared love of a healthy debate. 

Argument some might say. 

Camille had heard her Mother describe him as her daughters polar opposite. She didn’t think the bar manager had meant it as any sort of criticism at the time although it was always possible. Catherine had an often strained friendship with the Englishman. No, it was more that she was trying to explain to someone why they appeared to function so well as a team. 

Camille disagreed though. They were two halves of a coin in so many ways; he an introverted rule follower, slow to reach out for help if he needed it, she an extrovert who broke most of his rules and took risks which almost drove him to distraction. But they converged on so many things too. Their passionate desire to rid the planet of murderers and the like to the exclusion of all the normal trappings of life. Part of the reason she had never married had been her lack of commitment to the cause. Only now did she question lack of effort or simply never having met the right man. She also shared much less of herself than people at first realised. The really important stuff, painful moments in her life, undercover operations that hadn’t gone as well as they should have, her father walking out when she was still so young, those times were not easily shared. 

_“You really don’t you like her do you,”_ he’d said directly, non-judgmentally during a murder case on a sugar plantation.

_“No I don’t, but that’s not clouding my judgement.”_

_“I never said it was.”_

_“My father left home for a woman just like that. My mother watched ten years disappear as he turned from a husband and father into a babbling schoolboy.”_

_“Sorry.”_

_“Don’t be. That was his loss! But I know how manipulative a woman like that can be.”_

What would he have made of her Father?

No doubt he would have been just as protective as Humphrey had been but she was quite sure he would have expressed himself in a completely different way. Which would have involved an argument or two before either she realised what he really meant, or he explained what he was trying to do. 

Another jolt almost unseated her; no mean feat in the tiny bathroom, and she gathered her jumbled thoughts. 

_“But you don’t have to anymore. You have me.”_

One step at a time Camille, she told herself, calming as the memory of that conversation pushed others aside. Land, sort yourself out, settle into the job and then the hard work begins. 

As the plane once more settled, she stood, brushing down her clothes before flicking the locking mechanism on the door. Relief showed in the face of the young steward as she safely made her way back to her seat.


	4. The Whole of the Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I know I'm not on here a lot at the moment but I cherish every message I get, and it encourages me greatly.

“Excuse me……”

She couldn’t locate the voice, groggily coming too after her long sleep. 

“Excuse me….” The man next to her tapped her hesitantly on the shoulder. “I’m terribly sorry to disturb you but I really do need to…..” he nodded in the direction of the toilets. Camille scrambled out of her seat and stood back to allow him to pass, watching as he made his way down the aisle. From his body posture she would guess he needed to empty his bladder quite desperately and she wondered quite how long the pensioner had waited before having to wake her. 

Uggghhh that was such an English trait; this politeness and reluctance to perform a perfectly reasonable action in the belief they were somehow being thoughtful and considerate. She would lay bets that inside he was a seething mass of frustration, cursing her under his tongue for having the temerity to fall asleep on a long flight when the temperature had been purposefully raised to allow people to do just that. 

_“You’re so French.”_ Richards voice echoed once again in her ears.

Well the French wouldn’t have sat around for goodness knows how many hours shooting daggers with their eyes at the person next to them whilst crossing their legs. They would have woken her much earlier and with a smile. 

It was funny. Until he’d arrived on the Island she’d never particularly thought of herself as French. When in Paris, they had teased her for being too “Island” in her nature, not European enough. But those differences had worked well in the teams she had been part of. 

Richard had called attention to it regularly. Every time her opinions or methods had differed to his in fact. The phrase had been so well used that she had started to wonder if he used it as a protective barrier. 

Remaining standing whilst her neighbor was absent from his seat, she scanned the planes occupants casually. From what she could make out, approximately two thirds were tourists. Western European tourists, not a huge surprise given that it was a direct flight to Paris. There were a few babies, with tired, stressed looking parents fussing over them for fear they began to cry and disturbed other passengers. That was another English trait, their hatred of other peoples children causing any sort of disturbance within their personal area, which became laughable in enclosed spaces like planes or restaurants. Whereas the Italians; she had spied a large noisy family towards the back of the plane, had no such concerns. They laughed and fought and argued passionately, and let their children freely move around with absolute conviction that everyone would love their offspring as much as they did. 

To a single woman like Camille, each method appeared to have its own advantages and disadvantages although she knew which mother would get off the plane looking less harassed. 

What would Richard look like as a Father? Oooh dangerous territory that Camille she scolded herself feeling a little giddy. 

She thought it was highly likely that he would protest lack of ability, awkwardness, any number of avoidance tactics but that once a child – his child – was placed in his arms, he would melt like butter. 

Forcing her brain to move on from the images crowding in, she smiled pleasantly at the man making his way back down the aisle, and slid in to her seat after him. Soon they would begin the long descent and the little bubble she had been in on this plane, and the bubble that she had lived in for the past two years would burst to be filled by the noise and bustle, dirt and anonymity of a big city.

*******************************************

“Oui Maman. I promise……..And you.”

Camille sighed as she tapped on the red button, ending the call. She caressed the screen briefly and then placed it onto the smooth marble counter and sauntered across to the window, drink in hand. 

It wasn’t an amazing view but she liked to look out. She was high enough up in the drab apartment block to see the sky and she could watch the moon rise through the gaps between the buildings that crowded the narrow streets. 

Did Richard ever sit and watch the moon rise she wondered. He had obviously enjoyed star gazing during his time on St Marie. Camille smiled, cradling her warm drink as she remembered a sultry afternoon playing one of his childhood games on the verandah of the beach hut whilst she pouted and teased, and if she was honest with herself, flirted. It was a nice memory – the image of him blushing and frowning at her. 

He must have been sad to lose Lucy. She speculated whether his parents had held onto the tele……precision optical instrument. Would they have wanted to keep it or would they have cleared out his stuff? Did they even know? 

Casting her mind back to the few necessary conversations she had had with them after …….well after the event, they had sounded quiet and composed but deeply saddened; an entirely normal reaction to losing your only son. She didn’t believe that they had been acting, nor did she believe that Richard would have compromised the necessary secrecy even if was to spare them pain. It wasn’t a question she was likely to ask, although a trip to see them and introduce herself was definitely on the cards.

The moon was shining above the rooves now, looking smaller from its position high in the sky.   
The last month had passed by in a blur. A flurry of meeting and greeting people and settling into the job, moving into a colleagues room, and then back out of it into a rented apartment of her own. There had barely been time to eat, let alone plan her attack, plan how she was going to track down a dead man without anyone else becoming suspicious. But tomorrow was Sunday. She had spoken to her Mother already and had told her new team; a team that had been working hard to make her feel welcome, that she was heading out of Paris to catch up with old friends. There would be no-one to disturb her, she would be alone with her thoughts and memories and had decided she was going to let herself go back. Relive the day she usually worked so hard at forgetting. Search for clues, relook at the minute detail that she had been unable to deal with two years ago and had left to Humphrey with barely a protest. He had done a great job but had been solving a clear case of murder and there was bound to be small details that had been overlooked which would be important to her now. 

She would find him.


End file.
